A day like any other...
by stargazer5
Summary: Not about the x-men...but a mutant who has lost the way. Dont read this unless you can tolerate the plotless rambling of a beginner. Oh come on, people! Just read it! (grin.)


Today was a day like any other...  
  
by *star_gazer*  
  
  
The concept of mutants was taken from marvel, and still belongs to marvel. Anything else, you can use if you really want to, but it would probably just be easier to make it up yourself.  
  
Thats all i have to say. Go ahead, my friends. Read to your heart's content.  
  
  
  
"today was a day like any other..."  
  
  
  
  
The apartment was ugly. Dull brown walls stifled the little living space Monica had: a bedroom, bathroom, and a miniscule kitchen/living room with an oven, a sink, and a ratty grey couch on the seventeenth floor of the apartment building in the south corner of New York City, the northwestern gate to The United States of America. This place even SMELLS bad, she agonized between spoonfulls of cheerios, but then with a smile of satisfaction, thought, but at least its -mine-. Monica swung her gaze from the couch to the window, and then to the round clock mounted on the wall.  
  
"oh, no! I'm late for work again!" Monica stood up and bumped the table, spilling milk over the sides of the bowl.  
  
With almost translucent light hair and a skin color that seemed perpetually tanned (light brown and a little flushed,) Monica stood out from the crowd. She was not overly pretty, not more than normal, but she definitely got more looks and cocked heads than normal people, which meant that she probably wasnt going to slip into work late unnoticed.   
  
Again.   
  
The third time this week.   
  
At least she didn't get those looks for being a mutant. That little problem of hers was a whole different ballgame.  
  
Monica's history wasnt the usual sob story. She was never horribly beaten or punished for her genetic sins. Her parents were the demanding sort; they expected Monica to take nothing but the best from life, because they had worked hard to give her the chance to do so. 'Niccas parents raised her under a pressure that instills a drive and perserverence into the most relaxed of children. It was too bad that they hadnt had more love for her; they saw her success only as an extension of their own, Monica reflected as she sruggled with a skirt and a blouse.  
  
Her powers came to as much surprise to herself as anyone else. How could Monica The Destined have mutant powers?   
  
What her powers actually were wasnt really important. They were harmless; the only importance of her powers was the effect they had on her life.  
  
  
Now everyone knew she was a mutant. And sure she was verbally abused, and threatened, and even frightened a couple of times. The real effect was the way people just stopped caring. Her parents, her teachers, her friends, her principal... All the sudden everyone started suffering from the common illusion that Monica's mutanthood made her an unperson. She had no future now; how could a mutant succeed when everyone knew they were unstable and a threat to society, trouble makers that only succeeded in causing more problems?   
  
It bothered monica more than a little that her bright future had suddenly been snuffed out.  
  
So one day she left. Just packed up and left. And took her money, of course. Her parents were only to happy to see her go. So happy, in fact, that they gave her enough money to establish herself, so that, hopefully, they would never have to see the reminder of their greatest failure again.  
  
Out of sight, out of mind.  
  
Monica went to the most anonymous place she knew: New York City. She didnt have any problems with getting a job; she wasnt underage, didnt have a criminal record, or anything like that. She had some money, enough to rent her ratty apartment with the gray couch on the seventeenth floor of the Monroe Apartment Building.  
  
As monica rushed to the bus stop, she grinned when she thought that she would have paid more for the place if the couch hadn't come with it...  
  
  
  
"...is another day that will go down in the history books of mankind. For those of us who have just tuned in, yesturday during the United Nations Summit, there was purportedly a mutant terrorist attack of epic proportions..."  
  
Monica sighed and shifted on the couch. Enough of this! She put her bowl of ice cream on the floor, so she would have a hand free to change the channel. Another day at work, another dollar in the bank.  
  
Mutants like that give us all a bad name.  
  
At least they have goals in life, something to work for. Things were easier when they were harder, when I was just starting out and a little afraid and when I had a purpose: to establish a life for my self somewhere where no one could divine my past.  
  
The t.v. went through all the channels twice while Monica reflected, and then settled on a documentary when she put down the remote.  
  
But now... its like I've slipped into a limbo, where every day is just like the one before it, and opportunities walk on the other side of the street. those years as a child... those were the years when i learned the importance of meeting goals, having a purpose in life... what is my purpose? Monica was starting to feel uncomfortable.  
  
This is all too disturbing, she thought, as she slipped back into the mindless comfort of watching t.v.  
  
  
  
  
The next day....  
  
  
Monica starred in horror. The man had been just waiting at the bus stop. He didnt do anything to deserve something like that.  
  
He was just waiting, standing not so far from Monica herself, when the car hit the little girl.  
  
Monica recalled with nausea how it had sounded like the car had been slapped with a wet blanket.  
  
No one had moved; all they could seem to do was stare at the horrific spectacle, like children at a horror movie.  
  
Except for the man. The man moved. He stood in shock for a second, but just for a second before he pushed through the surprised people and ran to the sight of the accident, kneeling by the little girl. He put his hands above her still chest, and, with a look of extreme concentration on his face, began to glow, just slightly.  
  
A few seconds later, maybe a few minutes later, the man removed his hands and stood, slumping. He held out his hand to the little girl, who took it and stood up beside him. Her clothes were torn and bloody, but she moved painlessly, with only childlike clumsiness.  
  
By now a crowd had drawn, amazed by what the man had done. Amazed and silent, until the word mutant was mentioned. Angry mutters arised, and then became angry shouts.  
  
"The only good mutant is a dead mutant!"  
"People like you shouldnt be allowed to walk the streets!"  
  
The angry shouts became projectiles, loose objects aimed at the mutant, just as painful as their words. Violence ensued; the mob had begun to riot, at which point Monica began looking for a way out.  
  
She wasnt sure when the police got there, but when they did the riot was somehow quelled. Maybe it was the tear gas, or maybe people had begun to realize that what they were doing was horrifying. It was probably the tear gas, Monica thought. By now her brain was functioning a little better; enough for her to regret acting like a mindless idiot during the previous moments.  
  
she looked around. From the looks on people's faces, many of them felt the same way.  
  
Monica and the crowd turned their attention to the middle of the street where there was still some police action. They watched with morbid fascination as the police pulled away the last of the fanatics to reveal the mutant man, lying crumpled in a bloody heap.  
  
Sadness and regret descended thickly around Monica. She wished someone could be here to glow for the mutant the way he did for the little girl.  
  
The crowd dissipated as they lost interest. Monica walked home and called in sick to work. Last night she had felt uncomfortable, but now... now she felt like she had lost her soul. She knew she couldnt have stopped what had happened that day, but that was not what was bothering her.  
  
No one had tried to stop what happened that day. If she had stood up, would someone else have stood with her?  
  
With sudden clarity, Monica knew that she could not live with herself unless she did something, just something.  
  
  
  
  
twenty years later...  
  
Monica scanned the assembly before her. Swallowing her nervousness, she cleared her throat and continued.  
  
"As you can see, mutants not only are functional members of society, but actually beneficial to the community as a whole. If you take another look at these charts..."  
  
Now that she had begun to speak again, she felt herself relax with the flow of words. She had practiced this speech for hours, knowing how important it was. Things are going well, she thought.  
  
"...you see, the fundamental differences between the human and mutant psyches are actually complimentary in such a way that..."  
  
"and with the diversified economy allowed by mutants, we can do many things we previously thought impossible. For example..."   
  
okay, now for the closing statements...  
  
And Monica stood silent with a professional smile, that to some looked slightly pleased, and then asked, "any questions?"  
  
A swell of conversation filled the room, while the reporters, who came in surprisingly large numbers, vied for Monica's attentions long enough to get out a question.  
  
Monica's gaze was drawn to the reporter standing below and slightly to her left, who said,  
  
"Doctor, you must be enourmously pleased with your self, and well within reason. After all, you were one of the most infuencing authorities on mutants to affect the mutant policy here in the United States..." The reporter paused. He looked the doctor up and down to guage her reaction to his adulation, and, finding none, continued.  
  
"But tell me, how did you get involved in the issue of mutant rights at such a late age?"  
  
"Well, my first challenge was college, which was made difficult because reputable colleges wanted to accept me. They had good reason; I was steadily gaining a reputation as an active protestor for mutant rights and equality. But the challenges didnt stop there..."  
  
"excuse me doctor, but that's not what i meant. we all know your academic history. What i mean is, what -motivated- you to gain such an active interest in the welfare of mutants?"  
  
"Well, that is rather complicated..."  
  
Monica paused to think. Suddenly she brightened.  
  
"Let me tell you a story. It was when i was young and unused to the violence that even now occasionally plagues man- and mutantkind. It all started one day at the bus stop..."   
  
  
****so waddaya think? should i continue with this writing thing? all in all im not too unpleased by how that turned out, though it could have been better.   
  
im sorry about the ending. i really just couldnt pull it together...  
  
Review if you want. I like reviews, but i dont mind if you dont... ok, ok, ill beg. please. please review. if the happiness of this young writer means anything to you, i know youll do the right thing and reveiw. Please? 


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